Mae Thompson's Story

"No, no. Close the business deal immediately, and send my stockings back to be pressed and cleaned immediately. No. No, no, no. My flight's booked. I don't know why. Do you understand where I am, right now? It's going to make movie history, filming such an exotic place. No. No! I cannot come home, and as I've said - my flight's booked. Yes. No, you're wrong. No, I tried wiring the footage to you last weekend, and it didn't go through. You're going to have to hold on. Yes, of course I have a backup; this isn't my first bush shoot, Terry. No. No, no backup. Because I said so. The last time you sent that egghead, the shoot went to shit, that's why."

The woman who walked into the diner was tall, with dark brown hair and slanted eyes, hinting at her oriental background. She was speaking lightning quick into a small cell phone that she had pressed to her ear, her hair done up in a short and business-like, severe haircut. Behind her rolled a large, clunky case, with a small "HPX" printed onto the side.

"Just do it, Terry. I'll contact you again when I'm done." She snapped the phone shut, smiling at the server, a stark contrast to the stern expression she had worn when speaking on the phone. "Hello, table for one; booth, if you can make it so."

She relaxed slightly as the waitress led her to a corner table, explaining all the way that she may have to share it - they were quite busy because of some rock show or something. Mae didn't hear it all; the only thing that was in her mind at that moment was the wonderful shots she was going to set up. She didn't know how she had come to be in Wing City, but she knew one thing.

Weird was silver-screen gold, baby.

Mae blinked across at the young girl, jerking her gaze from her phone long enough to watch her, sternly. She had noticed the girl talking to herself, but didn't think much of it - she did work in the artist industry, after all - until she was faced with her; both figuratively and literally, it would seem.

Snapping the phone shut while still watching the girl, Mae tried for a smile - it ended up somewhere between a grimace and a scowl - and decided to fire the opening salvo for some small talk.

"So, what's good here? Are you a regular?" Those two questions really should be flipped, Mae.

Mae frowned at the changing eyes, and silently aimed her cell phone at the girl, leaning it against the wall non-chalantly. Nothing to see here, just propping my cell phone against this wal so that you're aimed in its camera. Don't worry about me.

"I detest communication, too. Trust me. I only have the phone because it lets me give orders quicker. As for what I do... I run a small media corporation - EyeSight media - and our goal is to shoot a documentary on the people and life in Wing City. So, my plan was to sit here and kind of people watch - get a good feel for it, you know? What about you? What do you do?"

Christopher awoke. Groggily. But, he awoke. He was an early-morning riser, and a late sleeper who slept in his clothes and took a shower later in the day. It wasn't hygenic, and it wasn't healthy, but neither was letting his house and himself stagnate for the last year. But, he had a visitor that was going to help with the former.

He had a visitor. It had only occurred to him then that he had a visitor. The visitor had washed all his dishes, and seperated his clothes into piles, and they'd agreed that she was going to get her things from her apartment today. Early. In the daylight.

It would be a few minutes in, before he had rolled off the couch and onto his feet.

"Charlotte!" he called, to the upstairs. "Are you awake? You're going to the apartment, today, to get your stuff, yeah? Now would be good!"

There was a thump and a surprised whoop from upstairs. Several more thumps registered as someone clumsily sped down the stairs.

Charlotte. With hair frizzed and messy from bedhead, eyes tired, but alert, with the most bewildered expression upon her face. It was as though she had forgotten where she'd laid her head the night before. She was in the same shirt and jeans from the previous day, missing her shoes and jacket.

"Uh...yes!" she practically screamed. Her hand clopped over her mouth, and she shut her eyes tight. "I mean...yes...sorry..." she repeated, much more quietly. She brushed her hand through her hair, reaching for her coat on the rack near the door before looking back at him. "How do I look? Alright? I-" Her mouth clopped shut. She squeezed her eyes shut again and shook her head.

"...sorry, sorry."

"Mysterious, and lovely." he replied back, unceremoniously. "Where did you put my clothes? The gun is still in the drawer, isn't it? I figure someone can carry it. Me, if you'd really like."

There was a few moments of hesitation, before he sighed, and shook his head.

"Nevermind, I don't need to change. Smell doesn't set in for another day, another few days, as long as I keep deodorized. You did want me to go with you, didn't you? In the case that you need someone to distract a particularly homicidal fellow while you shriek like a banshee."

Charlotte sulked at the comment. Her lips twisted at him. "That's not fair..." she complained, quickly opening the door. She paused, then closed the door again, running upstairs, past Chris. She came back down with the gun, which she held out to Chris.

"Uh. Um. Here." She reached for one of his hands to place on the item. "I don't want to hold it, but if something happens, I'll take it from you and do my best." A small pat was offered for his shoulder before she opened the door again. "Coming?"

"It was a solid tactic, Charlie."

He had taken the gun, and clicked the safety on before stuffing it into the back of his waistband. Like Charlotte, he grabbed a coat off of the rack, and slung it over his shoulders. The cane sat waiting for him, which he grabbed as well, but tucked into the loop of his coat.

The man reached into the pocket of his dress and pulled out a pair of near-opaque shades, which he sat on his head.

"You're not a nurse or a cabbie, but I think you'll do for an escort." he said, and offered his elbow to Charlotte. "Say you?"

Certainly not one of those pretty nurses, eh, Christopher? thought Charlotte. The corner of her lips twitched a bit, but she took his elbow and lead the way. "Oh, I think I make a right good escort. I'll try not to run you into a metal pole, if I can help it. Brett used to say I was blinder than a bat, m'self. Being as clumsy as I am."

And, with that, she lead him outside, eyes squinting from the sun.

There stood a woman, glasses high on her forehead, sweeping back black hair. Green, intelligent eyes lit up at the sight of Charlotte, then immediately narrowed at the man with her. She was single, wasn't she? All of Mae's sources said that she was single. She was, according to every source, single. So why was she-

A friend? Friends; it must be nice to be friends, she realized, smiling again.

"Hello! Hi! Yes, hello - you, and you," she said, scurrying over to the two of them, a folder in her hand. "Excuuuuse me, Charlotte, right? Could I ask you a number of invasive questions in order to-"

The woman suddenly snapped an elastic band around her wrist, straightening up and breathing out slowly. "Sorry, let me restart. My name is Mae Thompson, and I'm a reporter, Mrs. Carter. Do you have a moment?"

Charlotte looked at Christopher, then at the woman who introduced herself as Mae Thompson. Her lips parted to speak, but closed again as she lost the words. It took her another ten seconds to find them.

"... wh-why...?" she asked. "I'm... a little busy right now. I have to get going somewher. C-can it wait?" Her grip on Christopher's arm tightened nervously. What could this woman possibly want to ask her? Did it have something to do with that incident a week back? Had people seen her? How had they known her name, then? Was it, perhaps, a neighbor that she had introduced herself to, that she couldn't quite remember? Or some other reason?

Was it...was it because of Brett...?

"Hey, Mae Thompson. For a reporter, you have absolutely no people skills. That's just my observation, and I'm speaking as a person with no people skills." Christopher chimed, with a grin. Grin or not, though, he was obviously agitated.

He took a step in her direction, and loosened his arm from Charlotte's grip.

"How'd you find Charlotte here, anyway? Do all reporters get a degree in stalking before they're hired on-field to ask invasive questions?"

"Yes, actually," she said primly, with a smile aimed in Chris' direction - flirty, since clearly the woman wasn't married to him.

"I was planning on visiting the hospital, but as I walked in, out you two walked. I'd remember your face anywhere, Ms. Carter," she said, kindly. "I studied your story extensively."

She hooked her thumbs in her track pants, rocking backwards in her obviously too large shoes. "So, I followed you. Made note of where you lived, figured I'd come back in the morning. Here you are!"

She was overwhelmingly chipper as she opened the file, lifting a newspaper clipping and pointing it in Charlotte's face.

"I'm sorry to hear of the death of your husband, Ms. Carter. But you need to understand; such a huge case of fraud can't go unnoticed. I'm actually working on a book, and I would really, really like to tell your story. I'm the woman for the job; you can count on me!"

"My husband is not dead."

Charlotte stood there, staring at Mae with fierce denial. She looked absolutely offended. Aghast. "My husband and I moved here a few months ago. He is not dead. I don't know where you heard such a story. I am sorry. You've received some wrong information."

She pulled on Christopher's arm, trying to walk right past Mae. Her husband was not dead. Brett was not dead.

That paper didn't mean a thing.

That reporter didn't say a thing!

Christopher was confused, but they had a mission, even if it only was to retrieve clothes from an apartment. He pulled along with Charlotte, though damned if he didn't want to shove the reporter on the way there. She'd gotten a cold shoulder, and the newspaper article in her hand had been ripped from her fingers with not-so-nonchalant carelessness as he walked past.

"Private property, Mae. Leave the premises. But... don't follow us, yeah? Continued harrassment is bounds for a restraining order." he said.

If looking meant anything, he would've looked to Charlotte for answers. Instead, he furrowed his brow and his lips grew tight.

What had they meant?

Mae nodded, following in front of them, walking backwards quickly as they tried to advance. "Oh, I know, Ms. Carter. I know your husband isn't dead; at least, the man who took Brett Carter's identity isn't. The real Brett Carter died six long years ago."

She withdrew a second article from the folder, not at all perturbed by the fact that the first was missing. "We're just wondering, Ms. Carter, how you managed to get back at the fraudulent scoundrel! He replaced Brett Carter, and yet you're the one who wound up with the money."

She smiled, slyly. "That's where my angle comes in, Ms. Carter. The world thinks that you're a thief, but I'll paint you a heroine! A woman who wasn't afraid of the dark, mysterious stranger who broke into her life, looked him fiercely in the eyes, and took him for every penny he was worth. You'll be a hero, Ms. Carter!"

Charlotte paused, still clinging closely to Christopher. Her head turned, oh, so slowly, to face the reporter.

"...say that again?" she whispered softly, a slight stutter in her voice. Her eyes twitched a bit wider. "What did you say about my husband?"

Her grip on Christopher's arm loosened completely. She had let go, and was now walking towards Mae.

"...you've got some nerve, Miss Thompson. I'll have you know."

"Oh, don't do anything that you'll regret, Charlie. These reporters have a knack for lawsuits, if TV tells me anything. I'm sure she means well, anyway, she hasn't had the full story. Neither have I, but..." Christopher interjected, his voice falling to a small whine.

"Now would be the time to leave, Mae Thompson?"

She opened her mouth, turning to Christopher. "You have me at a disadvantage; as I do not know your name. Fred," she said, suddenly. "Your name is Fred. I'll leave, Fred, when I want to. This sidewalk is public property. Or I do not see your name upon it. Now,"

She turned back to Charlotte, cocking her hip. "Your husband... I didn't know him, Ms. Carter. But I do know what happened. You married a man named Brett Carter, who was dead as of six years ago - last week, actually. Reports of his death were mysteriously covered up until recently. Suddenly, you're being seen for over five weeks as living, eating, sleeping alone, with six point eight million dollars in a bank account that only you can access."

She smiled fully. "I won't ask what you did to the son of a bitch; but I would die to hear your story!"

"My husband isn't DEAD!"

Charlotte screamed, indignant, tears streaming down her red, red face. She stormed toward Mae, ignoring Christopher's words, her mind only on ripping the woman to shreds, to stop her from speaking another word!

"My husband is Brett Carter!" She held up her hand, showing off the ring he had given her eight years ago. "I saw him two weeks ago! I moved with him to Wing City!" She reached out for Mae's lapels, to draw her close. "I left my whole life back there with him! I left every friend and family and my job behind for him! Several months ago! There is no imposter! MY HUSBAND IS ALIVE!"

She pushed Mae fiercely, her anger fueling a short adrenaline rush that gave her strength. Charlotte wiped at her eyes, frustrated, confused, and done with it all. Her husband wasn't dead! Her husband wasn't dead.

"... my husband..." Charlotte dropped to her knees, keeling over until her forehead touched the ground, "... isn't... dead..."

Mae's face twisted, quietly backing away from the scene. "I'm... I'm sorry. I didn't... oh dear."

She quickly tossed the folder towards Chris to catch, backing further and further away. "Give that to her, she just... oh god."

Without another word, the woman fled down the street. Even though her car was clearly parked a few feet away.

Christopher trodded overtop the folder, and came to Charlotte's side. He drew a heavy breath in, before kneeling down, and laying a hand on the woman's back.

"Uhm, we have an apartment to get to. The lady threw something at me, that we - you - should probably get, that you can look at later. But, apartment."

His other hand extended downward, to help her up.

"I'm sure your husband isn't dead. He isn't, alright? But we've got to go."

Wiping her face, Charlotte nodded, then stood up slowly. She stumbled a bit, but caught herself, shoulders heaving up next to her ears in a big sob. The woman took in a shaky breath, and nodded again.

"...okay." she sniffed, carefully making her way to the foulder. She picked it up, but did not open it. She refused to until she was over herself. "L-let's go q-quick, mmkay?"

He offered an elbow.

"Lets go, then."

oh hi there

Aneres Coreveon wasn't dressed as obscurely as she would have liked to believe. The shimmering white kimono-style overlayer embroidered with golden moons down the sleeves, the long-hemmed fringe coming to rest just above the hemline of golden bell-bottoms. Beneath was a plain white top. A golden chain poked out from the collar but the rest of it was tucked beneath the shirt.

There was nothing Aneres could do about the bodyguards who followed her, but she had grown used to that to some degree. At least they let her style them at this point. It made everyone's job easier.

Aneres flicked golden braids to look one way up the street, then the other, then back again. A grunt from one of the bodyguards signaled that it was alright to cross. Halfway across the street she felt a slight tremor of energy. The bodyguards picked up their pace and hurried Aneres across. She didn't protest. They came to stop a stone's throw from a mercedes, a man perched atop the back.

"Did you feel that?" Aneres asked the man, half looking down her nose despite the fact that he was literally seated higher up than where she stood. Her tone wasn't pretentious but there was something about it that dripped with royalty.

"Bristol, very nice to meet you," Aneres extended her own hand and delicately gripped his. She frowned upon hearing that he didn't know what it was either.

"I am Aneres, as I prefer to be called," She regally addressed Bristol with a smile, "Princess of Aurealas. A pleasure to meet you. Is that what brings you here? Looking for the source of the disturbance? I will admit I haven't felt it anywhere else but here."

One of her Over's coughed. She rolled her eyes. They were always concerned she would reveal too much. Aneres had yet to do so.

The Rocketeer mutters "Bloody Hell... How'm I gonna get off-planet?"